Proper Treatment
by Rose Hunter
Summary: Something is very wrong in their fragile little world...
1. Blow

**AN: I am not a middle aged Japanese man, so I do not own Hetalia. This is a nonprofit fan fiction. Said fic was inspired by the cover art, which I do not own, either, all rights go to the original artist. You go artist. *hands reader cupcake* This is an apology in advance for what happens in this chapter... I did a bad. Please review kindly.**

**Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, foul language, torture, insanity, character death, etc.**

* * *

"Alright, dudes, it's totally time to start the meeting!" America shouted, leaping from his chair dramatically.

"We can't start yet," Russia protested, raising his hand. "We're missing someone."

"Oui, someone isn't here," France nodded. They were right; all the countries were in attendance, it seemed, but when they looked around there was one empty chair.

"Well, who isn't here?" America asked. They all glanced around, confused. It seemed like everyone was there… they couldn't figure out who was missing, no matter how hard they tried to. A polar bear cub shuffled out from underneath the table, pulling itself up into the empty seat. They all stared at it, and it stared back.

That was about when they started to hear a faint ticking noise. Very quiet and muffled at first but then it began to grow louder, and the beeps much closer together. People were rising from their chairs and looking around, some in confusion but most in horror because they recognized that sound… but no one could quite tell where it was coming from.

"What is that?" Italy asked.

"It's a bomb, you idiot!" Britain exclaimed. "We need to evacuate immediately, everyone head towards-"

The room fell into silence as the ticking stopped. The sudden hush made the room feel as though the temperature had dropped twenty degrees, and it stayed that way for several agonizing seconds before the bear started coughing exaggeratedly. Everyone in the room turned to face him as he spit up blood onto the white table cloth. After gagging some more he finally looked up to see all the countries staring at him. A drop of blood dribbling down his chin, he said, "Who are you?"

_BOOM! _

The thing about the world conference room was that its soundproof walls were build to withstand bomb detonations. So they were barely affected as the force of the explosion threw the countries against them, instantly rendering them unconscious (and some quite possibly mortally wounded) and destroying all of the furniture, leaving only the slightly smoldering aftermath and limp bodies in its wake.

The door creaked open, and slowly closed again behind the figure that had stepped into the room. His shoes made little sound as he walked over to the center of the explosion, picking up a tuft of blood-soaked fur in his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kumajiro," Canada said, smiling slightly. "But I had to get the bomb inside somehow, and you never remembered me, either."

The smile fell from his face, changing into a scowl as he let the fur drop to the floor. He kicked at one of the only bones of the bear that had survived the explosion, a few strips of flesh still intact, before leaning down to pick it up. He put it in his pocket. "Better keep this for memories sake, eh?"

He laughed a little before turning to face the body-covered floor. "I wonder how many survived. A lot, I hope. Otherwise who would I have to cure?"

* * *

Germany was the first to awaken from his unconscious state, becoming aware of the damp ground underneath him, and the sound of rodents scurrying somewhere in the background. His arm hurt immensely, and his head was throbbing. After several minutes, he finally opened his eyes. Everything was blurry at first, but his vision slowly returned to him. He lay on the ground in a dark room, the only light coming from a dim, flickering bulb hanging from the cracked ceiling by a thick black wire. Around him, some of the other countries laid on the dirt-caked concrete, still unconscious. They were all chained down in some way, Germany himself having his hands handcuffed and chained to the floor behind him.

He sat up slowly, feeling a dull pain in his ribs. He furrowed his brow and felt dried blood on his forehead and the right side of his face. Most of the others looked worse than he did, clothes colored crimson and wounds open to the cold air. No one in the room looked too seriously injured, at least on the surface, though Austria did have a rather nasty gash on his forehead and—and that was when Germany saw Latvia. He seemed rather fine from the waist up, only with minor cuts and bruises, but after that… his left leg was missing. Not just missing, but what scared Germany the most was that it had been nicely bandaged, probably treated for infection by the looks of it. Latvia himself was sleeping peacefully. Most would be relieved to see that he was okay, but not Germany, because he knew that it meant they wanted the little country alive. That he or she or they, in fact, wanted all of the countries alive.

"Cher dieu…" Someone murmured from the other side of the room.

"France?" Germany asked. "Is that you?"

"Oui, Germany," France said quietly, sitting up and looking around in confusion. He was a bit scraped up, but seemed to be the least injured out of the countries in the room. His blonde hair was slightly tangled, and a chain connected from what looked like a metal dog collar around his neck to the stone wall. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," The German replied. "Someone has kidnapped us."

"They're going to try to kill us, aren't they?!" France said, voice growing louder in panic.

"Don't worry, Papa, I don't want to kill you," Came a quiet voice from over in the corner of the room. France shrieked and Germany's head jerked in the direction of the sound, eyes narrowed.

"America?" Germany said in confusion.

"I'm not America," The blonde country said in exasperation, hands balled into fists. He ground his teeth. "I'm _Canada_."

"Well, stop standing there, let us out!" Germany said, twisting to show Canada the handcuffs.

"Oui," France nodded hurriedly, pulling on the collar with his slim fingers.

"What's funny is, I can't really do that," Canada said, chuckling slightly. Germany's eyes widened and France's hands fell to his side. They both stared at him.

"What do you mean you can't really do that?" Germany breathed.

"Well, I brought you hear to cure you, so I kind of got to do that," Canada laughed, as if it were obvious. "I mean, if I just let you go it would be a total waste of explosives."

"That was you?!" Germany exclaimed.

"Cure us of what?!" France shouted.

"Yep, that was me," Canada said shyly, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

"Why have you brought us here?" Asked a new voice, Hungary's, as she sat up as much as she could with her wrists cuffed to the ground, green eyes glaring at the Canadian.

"Well, you see," He began. "I was always wondering why no one ever noticed me. I mean, you'd have to be mentally ill to not recognize me after all this time! And that's what I realized. _You'd have to be mentally ill to not recognize me after all this time_. So I'm going to cure you."

"You're insane," France exclaimed.

"No, I'm not." Canada shook his head. "You are."


	2. High Strung

**This story is rated M for a reason. As in, really violent bloody gory things happen, and they're starting in this chapter. So please if you're bothered by that... don't read this. PLEASE. Also, for those who carry onward, reviewing and following would be much appreciated :D**

**Chapter Warnings: Foul language, insanity, blood, gore, cha****racter death**

* * *

Switzerland awoke from sleep on his stomach panting heavily, his skin coated in sweat and dirt. He sat up, finding himself in an almost pitch black room with three brick walls, the only light coming through the bars making up the fourth wall, far enough apart so he could have slipped his arm through if he wanted, but nothing else. He could not see anything more than five or so feet above him, so he had no way of knowing how tall the ceiling was. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and crawled towards the bars, looking out. The jail cell was in a long hallway full of other cells that he couldn't see into. It was dead silent.

How had he gotten here? He closed his eyes tightly, trying to remember, but the last memory he had was when he was in the World Conference Room, talking to Liechtenstein before the meeting…

"Hey!" He shouted. There was no response at first but after several seconds he began to hear the sound of shoes clicking against the floor. "Who the hell do you think you—America?"

"_Canada_," The blonde outside the door corrected, smiling coldly.

"Oh, right," Switzerland said. "Well, let me out."

"I can't do that," Canada laughed.

"What?! Why not?!" Switzerland said, pulling himself to his feet. Pain shot through his leg and he fell back to the dirty floor, clutching at his ankle.

"Careful, your ankle got twisted in the explosion." Canada chuckled. Switzerland glared up at him, remembering the polar bear that had coughed up blood onto the table and the explosion that had knocked him unconscious.

"How'd you do it?" He asked, glaring up at Matthew.

"I put a bomb inside Mr. Kumajiro," He said shrugging.

"He was your pet," Switzerland said in horror.

"Yes, and Liechtenstein was your sister," The Canadian said, looking off somewhere down the hallway. Switzerland leapt upwards, reaching through the bars and grabbing Canada's shirt collar, pulling him up against the hard metal. His head smacked against it with a loud _bang_, but he just smiled, reaching up to straighten his glasses.

"Where is she?"

Canada calmly replied, "She's right here,"

"Don't lie to me,"

"I'm not lying," Canada smiled. "If you let me go, I'll show you."

Switzerland hesitated before pushing the blonde away from him in disgust, watching as Matthew straightened his tie and walked over to the wall. He flicked a switch and a bright light came on in the cell, hurting Switzerland's eyes. Once they adjusted he blinked at Canada angrily.

"What the hell?" He growled.

"She's behind you," Canada shrugged, before wandering off down the hall. Switzerland narrowed his eyes in confusion, watching him go, before turning around. He had already looked, he was the only one in the-

Canada hadn't been lying. There, hanging from a frayed rope by her neck, was his little sister… or what was left of her. It seemed most of Liechtenstein had been destroyed in the explosion, both of her legs and an arm were missing, and the flesh that had previously covered the remaining limb had been completely ripped away. Her stomach was caved inwards as it seemed to be missing most of its internal organs except for the ones hanging out of the shredded flesh on her abdomen. The skin on her neck and a large portion of her face had been burned off, and the tissue that had been left behind was charred and black. Her left eyeball was barely still in her head and the side of her face that remained intact was a pale shade of purple.

After vomiting onto the floor, Switzerland limped towards his sister's mangled body, feebly reaching for her remaining, flesh-stripped hand. He curled his trembling fingers around her cold, lifeless ones and fell to the floor, screaming incoherently until his voice grew raw. When he finally couldn't yell any longer, tears came in waves of quiet sobbing, his body shuddering violently until at last he passed out from exhaustion.

* * *

"Poland!" Lithuania said, shaking Poland's arm frantically trying to wake him up. "Poland, wake up!"

"Wha…?" The blonde mumbled, eyes finally fluttering open as his tossed his hair out of his face dramatically. "Why are you waking me up, like, so early, Liet?"

"We're in a jail cell!" He replied, panicked.

Poland sat up and glanced around. "Oh, yeah, look at that. You know, if you're into this sort of thing, Liet, you totally could have just told me instead of-"

"This wasn't me, Poland!" Lithuania yelled. "I don't know where we are!"

Poland paled, if that's even possible. "Oh. Well that's disappointing."

"Poland, this is serious!"

"I know, I'm sorry," He laughed, somewhat nervously. "Yeah, that's me, totally serious. Okay. So. Where are we?"

"I already said I don't know," Lithuania sighed, eyes getting watery.

"Liet, are you okay?" Poland asked, placing a hand on Lithuania's shoulder.

"What do you think?" He replied, staring straight ahead and not meeting the blonde's gaze. Poland furrowed his brow before pulling the other man into an embrace.

"Its gonna be okay, Liet." He said, feeling Lithuania nod slightly. He pulled himself to his feet. "Alright, let's find out what's going on. HEY! BROSKY! IS ANYONE THERE?! YO!"

"You don't have to yell," Came a quiet voice.

"America?" Lithuania breathed, eyes narrowed.

"Every time…" He muttered. "No. I. Am. _Canada_."

"Whatevs, doesn't matter who you are, you need to let us out," Poland said.

"I have to cure you before I can let you go," Canada laughed.

"What?" Lithuania's eyes widen.

"You're mentally defective," Canada smiled. "I'm here to help you."

"You're insane," Poland noticed.

"I'm afraid that is incorrect." Matthew said. "But its okay. Most insane people do not actually know they are insane. Funny, isn't it?"

"Let us out!" Lithuania shouted, reaching through the bars and attempting to punch the Canadian in the face, but it seemed he was about a centimeter or so too far away for him to hit.

"Like I said, I have to treat you first," Canada beamed.

"Damn you," Lithuania growled.

"And how do you plan on curing us exactly?" Poland asked, studying his nails.

"All I have to do is make you remember me." Canada smiled. "And of course I've tried practically everything for that before… _except_ pain. And since that's the only thing left, I guess that has to be the cure. I mean, it makes sense."

Poland didn't say anything as the Canadian turned to leave, just stood there staring at the spot he had been before while Lithuania shouted angrily down the hallway after him.

"He's going to torture us," The blonde said, his eyes wide. Lithuania finally stopped yelling, and rested his head up against the bars.

"Yeah," He murmured.

"Liet, are we gonna die?"

Lithuania turned to him. "No."

"Are you sure?" Poland blinked.

"Yeah," Lithuania nodded. "I'm sure."

* * *

"When I see that pancake-loving bastard again I will rip out his damn throat with my own teeth if I have to, I hate him so much for this, I will kill him!" Romano shouted, pacing back and forth at the base of the stairs.

"I'm too young to die, I can't die! I'm still just a virgin!" Italy wailed, sobbing on the floor behind him.

"Shut up!" Belarus hissed, from where she sat on the floor a little ways away. The three of them were locked in what appeared to be a basement somewhere. The dark room was lit by several long, white lights in the ceiling. There were four metal cots against the wall, but there was nothing else in the room. No windows, and only one door, the locked steel one at the top of the stairs that Canada had appeared and disappeared through moments before. "Yelling and crying won't solve anything!"

"Then what will?" Romano demanded, glaring at her.

"I-I don't know!" She said. "Why is it my job to think of something?!"

"It was your idea to stop yelling, blondey,"

"Please don't be mean," Italy said, tugging on Romano's shirt sleeve.

There was a long moment of unbroken silence. It was dead quiet there, no sound of birds chirping or dripping water or scurrying rodents or the shouts of the countries upstairs. It stuck in the thoughts of the three of time, like a splinter in their minds, until Belarus finally murmured, "We need to get out of here."


	3. Cut and Run

**Hello lovely readers! It seems that this chapter has some potentially triggering things inside. So once again, if there is something in this chapter that might trigger you, please do not read it. I'd much rather lose a reader than trigger someone. For the rest of you, read on! And thank you so much for the reviews I have received so far, I greatly appreciate them, and of course feel free to leave more!**

**Chapter Warnings: foul language, blood, gore, insanity, molestation, implied rape**

"Bloody hell," Britain hissed, his back against the metal bars behind him, using them to brace himself as he kicked out with his feet, trying to somehow break open the door to the cage he was trapped in. It only sent painful vibrations reverberating up through his bones, sending him into another wave of cursing before repeating the process for what seemed to be the millionth time.

"It's no use," Ukraine said from her cage about twenty feet away.

"She's right, mi amigo," Spain nodded from his own confine.

Ukraine continued, "Even if you did get out somehow, you'd just break your neck on the fall to the ground…"

China, the only other country in the room, swallowed hard, glancing downwards. They were all being contained in separate impounds, like large birdcages hanging by chains from the arched ceiling. They were tall enough for them to sit up and stretch their legs, but not enough to stand up or comfortably lay down. The ground was about forty feet below them, making China's head spin. How the Canadian had gotten them up there, they had no idea.

"Well what do you want me to do, just sit here and let that wanker win?!" Britain demanded. Ukraine and Spain shared glances.

"I don't know, aru, but you aren't getting anywhere that way." China said quietly, making Spain jump. The Eastern nation had hyperventilated and passed out when they woke up and realized what was going on, and hadn't done much talking since. And the few things that he _had_ spoken didn't quite seem right, like someone had broken a glass and tried to put it back together, but got some of the pieces confused so it didn't quite fit.

"We just have to calm down and think of something." Ukraine said. They all took deep breathes and glanced at each other.

"If anyone has any ideas," Spain said. "Say them, por favor. Does… anyone have any?"

The silence answered his question.

* * *

Sweden sat with his back rested up against the cold stone wall of his cell, the only sounds that of dripping water and the occasional scurrying of rats. He hadn't been injured much in the explosion as he had been pretty far away from it. Bruises were scattered across his body, but the only place the skin had been broken was his arm. The wound had already been treated and wrapped when he woke up, presumably by the Canadian that kept him captive.

Speaking of the devil… "Hello, Berwald."

Sweden looked up, his expression blank but a flame of hatred burning in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just waited for Matthew to continue. Canada stood by the cell door, looking Sweden up and down, and then glanced around the small room. He didn't meet the other man's eyes, though Berwald was staring right into his.

"I see you're-"

"What did you do with my wife?" Sweden interrupted, rising to his feet.

"Finland?" Canada asked and the other man nodded, taking several steps towards him. Berwald towered over Canada, looking down on him with cold eyes.

"Where is he?"

"Well, eh," Canada took a step back, intimidated by the much larger man even though he was trapped behind bars. "Here's… _some of him_."

Canada tossed something small towards Sweden, who caught it in his hands, before disappearing down the hallway. When Sweden looked down at what was in his palms, his eyes widened and he let out a horrified gasp, throwing it out of the cell and into the hallway on reflex, where Finland's severed, blood-caked finger rolled to a stop. It was definitely Tino's. Sweden had held his hand enough times to know the look of his fingers and the feel of his skin.

He stumbled, falling backwards onto the hard ground before pushing himself up against the far wall and pulling his knees to his chest, refusing the look out into the hallway. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing heavily and trying to stop himself from crying.

Sweden was a stoic man. He had lived a long life full of hardships, but had hardly ever cried. The last time he had done so, in fact, had been not out of pain but out of joy. When Finland finally said that he was not afraid of him. Tino had at first been confused when Berwald covered his mouth with his hand and two matching tears fell from his eyes. He had asked if he'd said something wrong and Sweden had just shook his head, pulling him into a hug, so grateful that the person he cared about most in the world was not scared of him.

But that seemed so far away now. And Finland… might not even be alive.

* * *

France finally let out a scream when he felt the blade digging into his back, just below his shoulder blade. Canada yanked the knife to the right a few inches before roughly pulling it out of his flesh, France letting out another blood-curdling shriek, his eyes slammed shut, his body soaked with sweat. Blood seeped out of the many wounds on his back and down his sides, staining his skin red.

"Screaming is a good sign," Matthew commented, repeating what he had just down but underneath France's other shoulder.

"Canada!" France wailed. "Please stop!"

"You know I can't do that, papa," Matthew said, digging the knife into the small of France's back. Francis grit his teeth, determined not to scream again as scarlet liquid seeped from the incision. His arms and legs were strapped down to the cold metal table he lay on. The only other thing in the tiny room was a small tray of knives behind Canada, each blade different in size and shape. He had already used half of them on the country who had raised him.

"Yes you can, Mattie…" France said, whimpering as sharp metal dug into the flesh just above his collar bone. His words began to trail off as everything began to turn black as he slowly lost consciousness from pain and blood loss. "I raised you, I know you have strong will power… you can stop. Mattie… papa still loves you. You… can stop…"

* * *

"Today was so long," Canada sighed, stepping into the dimly lit bedroom. A pained groan came from the bed. He kicked off his shoes and socks as well as slipping out of his jacket, tossing them into a corner of the room. The floor was covered in rugs of all shapes, sizes and colors lying wherever they wanted, and the walls had dark red wallpaper. The three windows were undersized, close to the ceiling and all on the same wall, iron bars covering them even though it was unlikely that anyone would be able to reach them. There were chairs and a couch facing an unlit fireplace and a chest of drawers up against one wall, but the room was mostly empty. Canada made his way over to the bed. "I'm sorry, sunflower. Did I wake you?"

The Russian man handcuffed to the bed post did not respond as Matthew climbed on top of him, one leg on either side of Ivan's hips. He didn't even glance at the man above him, staring up at the ceiling and refusing to look anywhere else. Russia was clad in only his boxers, and his platinum blonde hair was tangled and falling in his eyes. He didn't react when Matthew brushed them gently out of his face, but he flinched when the Canadian ran the back of his nails across the bruises on Ivan's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Canada repeated. "I didn't mean to interrupt your sleep."

He smiled innocently, running his fingers down Russia's marked side with his right hand and tangling the other in his messy hair. "I know how tired you must be after," He pressed a fingernail into one of the more painful bruises and Russia took a sharp intake of breath, squeezing his eyes shut. "_All that_."

"Treating so many countries is so much work, Ivan." Canada continued after a few seconds. "There's just so many of them! And the treatment process is so time consuming. But I have to do it, for them. And I mean, it's not like it's an unpleasant experience… you know how much I like to hear people scream. And—Ivan? Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

A surprisingly painful slap graced Russia's face and he whimpered, prying open his violet eyes to look up at the man on top of him.

Canada smiled. "Much better."

Russia felt something warm on his leg and looked down to see Canada's pants soaked in blood and dripping it onto the Russian's pale skin.

"Whose blood is that?" Russia croaked his voice raw and used.

"I'm not entirely sure… could be several different people's," Canada admitted, before frowning down at his pants and tugging them off, throwing them away from the bed. "I suppose they were coming off, anyway…"

"What have you done to the others?" Russia asked.

"I told you, sunflower. I'm treating them." Matthew said, resting his head on Ivan's chest and wrapping his arms around his torso. They laid in silence for several minutes before Canada finally whispered, "Your heartbeat sounds so powerful, but you are so broken… And all mine. Your heart, you soul, _your body_… its all mine."

"I will _never_ be yours, Mattvey," Russia hissed. A sharp pain shot through him when Canada took a pocket knife to the underside of his arm, sinking the blade into the pale flesh. Ivan let out a strangled cry.

"Are you sure about that?" Canada asked, slowly tugging the blade to the left towards Russia's shoulder, the skin splitting beneath the cool kiss of the blade.

"_Stop_," Ivan said, voice shaking as he breathed heavily.

"Admit that you're mine, sunflower, and I'll stop." Russia just glared up at him. Matthew frowned and jerked his hand upwards, ripping open the flesh on the larger man's arm. Ivan screamed. "_Say it_."

"I-I'm yours," He whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. Canada smiled darkly and tossed the knife aside, leaning forward and lapping up the warm liquid that was trickling from Ivan's new wound.

"All mine," Canada grinned, pulling away from the injury to plant a bruising kiss on Russia's lips, the metallic taste of blood heavy in his mouth as Matthew's tongue forced its way inside.

"Stop…" Russia groaned when the blonde started grinding his hips against his.

"Why should I?" Matthew asked, reaching down with his right hand and aggressively stroking Russia through his boxers, earning him a badly-silenced moan. It was quickly followed by more pleas to stop, which Canada silenced by harshly biting Russia's collar bone. "You said it yourself, sunflower. _You're all mine_."


	4. Cold Shoulder

Hey guys. I'm sorry this took so long, but I've had so much homework and laptop troubles with a side order of drama, and you get the idea. But I am here now, friends! Here only to write more (hopefully) horrifying words. Shorter chapter, but I'll make sure the next one is longer. I guess I can say this chapter is in honor of the fact that Himapapa updated the blog... Davie... oh god... Guys, do you hear that sound? That's the sound of my heart shattering.

Chapter warnings: Foul language, blood, gore, character death

* * *

"I'm afraid," Seychelles whispered, breaking the silence that had previously engulfed the room. She tried to focus on her shoes but she kept glancing over at France and the horrible mutilation that marred his back.

"Me, too," Latvia nodded, shaking like a leaf.

"It'll be alright," Austria said, smiling weakly.

"You can't lie to them like that," Hungary hissed to him, quiet enough so no one else would hear.

"Yes I can," Austria replied quietly. "Would you rather I tell them the truth? That we're probably all going to _at least_ be horribly tortured, if not killed, in this place?"

Hungary blinked and grew silent, looking away from the Austrian.

"Cuba still isn't back," Germany said, looking up. All the countries stared at the spot where the Cuban man had been tethered to the floor. He had been gone for almost four hours. No one wanted to say anything as they realized what had happened. The average 'session' with Canada lasted about an hour. So far, out of their little group, only France had been taken. This was the first time Cuba had been, and he hadn't returned.

"Cuba was always mistaking Canada for America, no matter what happened." France sighed. "Matthew might have thought…"

France trailed off, but they all knew where he was going. Germany took a deep breath and finished the statement. "… Zat Cuba was beyond saving."

* * *

"No, I won't do it." Japan shook his head, pushing the plate of food away from him. "If you can't eat anything, America-san, then I won't, either."

"You need to eat, dude. And like I said, its fine." Alfred said from the other side of the glass. They were in conjoined cells, separated by what seemed to be an unbreakable plane of glass. There weren't any bars at the front of the cell, either, just another glass wall with a sliding door on each that locked from the outside.

"But it's not fair that I get to eat and you don't. It'd be wrong of me to just flaunt all this food around right in front of you when you have none." Japan shook his head.

"I'm not a big fan of pancakes, anyway." America smiled weakly. Though Canada had been sure to keep Kiku well-fed, Alfred hadn't had so much as a morsel since they awoke in the glass jail cells. It'd had been almost twenty four hours, and America was starving. Japan had tried every possible way he could think of to somehow get the food to him, but it just wasn't possible.

Japan still hesitated, so America added, "Just because I go hungry doesn't mean both of us should."

Kiku sighed and ate the pancakes quickly, being sure to turn his back to Alfred so he didn't have to watch. Just as he finished, a quiet voice came from the hallway.

"Alfred, I have something for you," Canada said.

"Is it food?" Alfred said hopefully.

Canada laughed. "No, I'm afraid not." He reached into a messenger bag with the Canadian flag on it and pulled out several cords, each with little suction cups on the end. He flipped open the mail slot-like opening in America's glass door (too small for an arm to fit through, they'd tried) and tossed the sucking-cup sides of the wires in, keeping a good hold of the other end, which all attached to a remote control-like device that Canada held in his hands.

"Attach those to yourself, please," Matthew said, using another cord to plug the device into the wall.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" America gapped.

"Well for one, if you don't…" Canada hastily unlocked the door to Japan's cell and before either of them knew what was happening, Canada had an arm around Japan's neck and a pistol pressed up against his head. "I'll shoot him."

"O-okay," America swallowed hard, eyes wide. He quickly picked up the wires and pressing the little suction cups to his skin in random places.

"Good boy," Canada smiled wickedly, ruffling Kiku's hair before stepping back outside and closing the door again. He picked up the device and ran his finger lightly over it, narrowed eyes trying to decide which brightly colored button was best to press. He gave a little shrug and pressed down.

Alfred's eyes widened to sizes Japan hadn't even known were possible, and his entire body was flung against the ground, his back arching. His scream drowned out most of the crackling electricity that Canada was sending through his body. He scrapped at the ground with his nails and kicked with his feet, unable to stop the pain. Japan leapt for the glass and banged his fists up against it, but there was nothing he could do except watch as Alfred writhed in agony. It was almost an eternity, it seemed, until Canada finally pressed a button to stop the flow of electricity. Alfred's back flattened against the stone and his eyes were squeezed shut, tears flowing freely down his face.

"America-san!" Japan shouted worriedly, but if America heard him then he didn't show it. Canada tugged on the cords until they popped off, leaving red circles on the American's skin where they'd been attached, and pulled them out of the cell to shove in his bag again.

He waved to them as he walked away; calling over his shoulder, "See you again tomorrow, Alfred."

* * *

_Wham!_

The feeling of a hockey stick connecting with Austria's back drove the air out of him, causing him to slam his eyes shut and grit his teeth. He'd stopped screaming a long time ago, and had stopped struggled even farther back. It was useless. The hockey stick smacked against the back of his leg and he took a quick intake of breath. It wasn't so much a stinging slap as being hit with the Canadian equivalent of a baseball bat.

They'd been at this for what felt like days for the Austrian, minutes for the Canadian beating him, and about thirty-five minutes to anyone not involved. With that long an amount of time and each hit delivered with such power, it shouldn't have been that long before-

"God damn it!" Canada cursed as he connected the stick to Austria's abdomen and it let out a loud, resonating snap. "Stick broke…"

Austria didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and breathed heavily. It wasn't that Canada had broken him; it was just that he saw no point in saying anything. Or opening his eyes. Or moving. In fact, it was probably better that he wasn't moving, as it was entirely possible that some of his ribs had been broken and would puncture his lung if he moved. Judging, however, by the blood dripping from the side of his mouth, something inside him had already gotten seriously messed up by the encounter.

"Alright, come on, Roderick." Canada said interrupting his thoughts by pulling him to his feet rather roughly. Austria couldn't help but let out a whimper. Austria just glared at him barely able to stand. Canada pointed to the red liquid smeared on the Austrian's cheek, and innocently said, "You have, eh, a little blood on your face."

* * *

"Let me go you barbaric douche nozzle!" Hungary demanded as she was dragged down the hallway by her ankles. The spot on her arm where Canada had injected was red, as if about to break out into a rash. The poison that had been in the needle was surging through her veins, paralyzing her. Its icy grip on her limbs was the only thing she could feel.

"I can't do that," Canada said, smiling apologetically.

"Yes you can! Just pull me back to the room! Or better yet, LET US OUT!"

"Now you know I couldn't do that, you'd all just declare war on my country."

"And with good reason!"

They reached a door at the end of the hallway, grey and faded and plastic. The hinges were rusted and they squealed when Matthew threw the door open. He dragged her inside, and she glanced around, her head being the only thing she had control over. He was bringing her into a kitchen of some sort, the wall lined with knives and ovens and refrigerators. The floor was checkered white and black, and stained with little drops of blood. The walls, once white, were turning yellow and mold was crawling its way up the corners.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to cook you," He said noticing the horrified look on her face. He pulled her towards a huge refrigerator and dropped her legs to open the doors. "You _will_ be going in here though."

"No." She said instantly. "God, _no_."

"I'm sorry," He picked her up by the waist and shoved her into the freezer, folding up her legs so she would fit. "But there's no other way."

"_Fuck you_." She hissed.

"Sorry, Russia's already doing that." He laughed at his own joke. "Well, I suppose it's really the other way around, but, eh, technicalities. Oh, I almost forgot, got to make sure you can feel it…" He took another syringe out of his jacket and injected it into her neck, and her feeling began to return to her, starting with her neck and shoulders and working its way downward. "Hopefully I won't forget you're in here…"

And with that, he closed the door. The light stayed on inside the freezer and she was already covered in goose bumps and trembling horribly. Her breath billowed in front of her, and by the time her feeling had returned to her fingers they were already starting to turn blue. She flexed them to keep the blood pumping and the hypothermia at bay. She looked around the refrigerator. It could have fit two people on each shelf, but only if they were sitting, and it seemed to be completely empty, except for a square metal container sitting beside her.

Reaching over with shaking hands, she pulled it closer to her with some difficulty. It felt about fifty pounds, and it was growing more difficult to clutch much of anything with her fingers. Once she pulled it closer, it took almost ten whole minutes to work the top off, and once it came off she wished she hadn't been able to get it open at all. Sitting there in a bed of ice inside the box was Cuba's severed head. His eyes had sunken back into his skull but the dull orbs still stared at her as if asking her why she hadn't been able to save him, full of horror like they held the visions of their final moments locked within their pupils. His skin was purple… and his lips were pale… and she screamed.


End file.
